


my hand is always there to help

by shiningjedi



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Bedside Vigils, F/M, Major Character Injury, Respectful Bly, Shy Bly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-29 18:26:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12636675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiningjedi/pseuds/shiningjedi
Summary: Aayla is hurt.  Bly sits with her in the medbay.





	my hand is always there to help

**Author's Note:**

  * For [evaceratops](https://archiveofourown.org/users/evaceratops/gifts).



> For the incredible @evaceratops. <3 I love her so much I dedicated it twice.

Bly started running immediately after the last trooper had been evacuated from the planet’s surface, dashing past shiny – no, not shinies now, they had bled out and their armour had been marked – and officer alike in his haste to get to the medbay and see his General.

The medic looked him in the eye when he got there, panting and cord-tense, and gave him an expression that said plainly he knew exactly all of the emotions Bly was feeling for his General just then. 

Thankfully, however, he didn’t comment, merely said “She’s stable, Commander,” then, “I’ll be with the men, Sir,” saluted, still ignoring his broad glare, and left.

He knew Aayla had been wounded defending his men, but he hadn’t been certain of how badly – his mind told him that it could have been far worse as he noted the bandaged and braced left lek, the bacta patch on the other cheek, and the swathes of gauze around her torso before they were covered by loose pajamas and the bedclothes. His heart, however, still felt as if it were twisting and doubling over in ways that should not have been sentiently possible.

Unsure of what to do with himself, he sat down in a hard, plastiform chair, removed his helmet and simply watched her.

“I can’t lose you, Sir,” he whispered into the air, at once hopeful and terrified she would somehow hear him and rouse.

It was several hours before a faint, sleepy whimper told him his General was waking, and he had almost nodded off himself in the uncomfortable seat, worry and internal fire keeping him awake despite his weariness and the usual horrible post-adrenaline lack of focus.

He snapped to his feet, and moved over to help her to sit up as she attempted it, then stopped short just before he touched her shoulders – she was injured near there, but quite apart from that they were only lightly covered; in addition, a single wrong movement from his hand might send it brushing against one of her lekku – one of the worst faux pas a non-relative or spouse could commit when with a free Twi’lek woman.

She leaned her head forward, wincing as she did so, and blinked slowly at her Commander; “Please,” she mumbled, and he hesitated still – she wasn’t fully herself, her judgement was impaired – before he complied, holding gingerly and letting go of her as soon as he was certain she was leaning fully against the wall.

“I-”

He started to speak, cut himself off, and picked up his helmet again to give him time to think, time to look away from his General in her moment of vulnerability and with her lekku unbound.

When he glanced back, Aayla was smiling gently up him, looking rather more possessed of comprehension than before, fingers twitching as if she wanted to cup his face. “If I do have memory loss, Bly, then I can’t remember what I’ve forgotten.”

He gave an awkward, nervous little chuckle, turning his bucket around and around for something to do with his hands. He hadn’t even considered that, but of course, the lekku stored memories. “Is that Jedi for ‘I’m okay’?”

She looked down again and quirked a smile, uninjured lek wriggling where it brushed against her bedsheets. She reached out a hand, ignoring the stiffness and ache in her arm, and he set his helmet down on the metal floor and took it. Her breath snorted out into a little laugh, what from she couldn’t have told someone. Warmth, maybe. Relief of tension. “No, it’s Aayla for ‘you worry too much’.”

He snorted, too, and some of the tension drifted from his face. “’t’s only my duty, Sir.”

She went to glance over at the chrono, but the movement shot a spasm of pain through her neck up from the blaster wound in her upper back. “Ow.”

Bly was closer at her side again at an instant, gentle concern unobscured on his face. “Sir, are you alright?”

“Apart from the fact that I have recently been shot? Perfect, Commander. May I ask the time?”

He looked over at the projected display. “It’s Twenty-two oh seven, Sir; you should probably try to get some more sleep.”

She twitched one side of her forehead in a combination of amusement and disapproval, finely tatooed eyebrow moving along with it. “I could say the same of you, Bly,” she replied, voice tired, musical, and softly reproving.

Bly had never loved her more than in that instant.

“I’ll turn the lights off as I go,” he promised, and kissed her forehead, helping her lie down and then pull up her two thin, synthweave blankets without using her injured hand.

She fell asleep just after she let go of his assisting one. 

“I could never forgive myself if you died, Sir,” he whispered, and left, palming the lightswitch as he’d assured her as he did.


End file.
